


You Can't Quit Me, Baby

by robotboy



Series: Flying Blind [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: 'I love it when you call me señorita', Din is shown an iota of affection and immediately gets a nosebleed (spiritually), Dirty Talk, I just really want the mandolando tag to exist, Kink Discovery, M/M, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29620725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: The client was the worst-dressed man Din had ever seen. But then he’d said: ‘Just look at you, baby, all wrapped up like a present…’And Din learned something about himself he wasn’t sure he liked knowing.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Lando Calrissian
Series: Flying Blind [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698328
Comments: 35
Kudos: 87





	You Can't Quit Me, Baby

The client was the worst-dressed man Din had ever seen. But then he’d said: ‘Just look at you, baby, all wrapped up like a present…’

And Din learned something about himself he wasn’t sure he liked knowing.

‘You sure I can’t fix you a drink?’ Calrissian had offered, after the convoluted process of receiving Din’s delivery.

Din shifted. The building was mystifying: the hideous public art suggested it was administrative, the quantity of fixable drinks in immediate reach could only be a bar, but furniture was never this soft outside a private home.

‘No, thank you,’ he said, a lot less sharply than he planned to. This couch—a divan, was that the proper name for it?—was trying to eat him.

Lando’s eyebrows climbed across his face like Din could suit himself. He set about mixing something that looked every part as complicated as any Mandalorian ritual, complete with a garnish that he applied such care and delight that Din got the distinct impression he may as well not be in the room.

Technically, he could leave. He had payment secure in the camtano, and the target was presently clarifying his eclectic approach to tax exemption laws to a menacing branch of public officials. But there was something enchanting about this man who dressed himself as a tropical bird and crinkled his eyes like Din knew a joke that was just between the two of them.

Lando tipped his glass to Din, and turned his head to one side as he drank. Din’s gaze caught on the bob of his throat, the red stain it left on his lower lip, and the relief of fingerprints left on the condensation of the glass. The thigh plate bit into Din’s knuckles as he compulsively dug his fingers in.

That was when Lando had sauntered—he seemed to know no other way of moving besides sauntering and flying very fast—onto the divan. He positioned himself so that Din had to twist, posture opening up, to see him properly.

‘Tell me, hotshot,’ Lando put the drink delicately on a coaster. ‘You got some free time, at least?’

Din gave a slight nod of his head. He loosened his cowl; not to reveal anything but because it was suddenly tight. Lando didn’t look, or at least didn’t make a show of looking. He seemed more intent on Din’s gloves, and Din found himself peeling one hand out and then the other, clutching reflexively at the open air. Lando’s eyes caught on the scar beside Din’s thumb, glinting curiously, but he only sipped his drink. The air hung thick between them. Then Lando dragged a long, heated look through thick eyelashes from Din’s helmet to his hips and, for the first time Din could remember anyone ever having done, Lando called him _baby._

Despite the purported appeal of armour to a considerable population of the galaxy’s fetishists, Din had never been seduced. Propositioned, certainly, and fucked, of course, but no lovers who wouldn’t have flinched at the title of _lover._ This man, though, looked like he’d been born into the title, wearing it with the same pride he wore that precisely-pressed shirt. Continued to wear it after unbuttoning the shirt, his fingers working to reveal a glimpse of chest hair—and then much more than a glimpse as his hand fell away, letting Din reach out and fiddle with the next button. When the last one finally fell away, the slight flutter of Lando’s belly was the only tell: he was eager for Din’s touch, curiously uncertain, and when Din’s knuckles trailed over his waist, perhaps a little ticklish. He slithered closer, eyes downcast, the shirt falling off his shoulder as he reached back for something.

Din paused as Lando brought a communicator to his mouth.

‘Cancel my next appointment,’ Lando murmured, his gaze burning a hole in Din’s visor. ‘My office is going to be locked for the next hour.’

Din barely had time to reevaluate this desk-less room as an _office_ before the communicator vanished, Lando’s fingertips hooking in the bandolier that still spanned Din’s chest.

‘Leave it on if you want, handsome,’ Lando’s touch descended to the gambeson, coming to rest at the belt buckle. ‘But if you’d like to get more comfortable…’

Din nodded. Lando bit his lip as he slid the leather tongue loose, slow and gentle. He glanced at Din’s visor as if it would give away any sign that Din wanted to stop: Din gave no such sign.

_‘Hello,’_ Lando greeted the inch of skin revealed at Din’s waist as if it were an old flame, and he unclipped Din’s suspenders to expose more. Somehow he barely touched Din in the process, focusing entirely on fastenings and fabric, until Din was visibly trembling.

‘Ah,’ Lando purred, when he found the seam of Din’s undershirt. He nudged at the opening. ‘Now, darling, if you’re so inclined…?’

Din took a moment to remember how to breathe before interpreting Lando’s suggestion. This shirt, and every layer above it, could be removed while the helmet stayed on.

Despite Lando’s suggestion, he did hardly any of the work in _unwrapping_ Din, though Din suspected such a sartorially inclined man could navigate the buckles and hooks of Mandalorian armour with relative ease. No, he simply insinuated himself into the electrically-charged space between their bodies, closer and closer with every millimetre Din gave him. Instinct overtook: Din let muscle memory quell his nerves as he worked methodically through pauldrons, cuirass, bandolier, cape, sliding the gambeson off one arm and the suspenders with it. That left only a shirt on his upper half, meaning he’d caught up to Lando.

Well, not quite: Lando spread his cape underneath him like the pelt of an unusually colourful game animal. Din realised, with a stutter in his breath, that he was the latest quarry.

‘Oh, aren’t you _beautiful?’_ Lando’s eyes glittered.

Din huffed a laugh. The flush in his cheeks wasn’t visible, but it was threatening to creep below his cowl. He couldn’t guess Lando’s tastes: rangy and battle-scarred, with a few unlikely moles and a tawny patch of fluff around his navel, apparently.

‘Now, sweetheart,’ Lando crooned, and it shouldn’t have worked. ‘When did you last let someone take care of you?’

Lando had a devilish grin topped by a moustache that made Din consider moustaches in a different light. As it trailed over his waist and warned Din of the quick bites Lando would use to make him twitch, Din wondered how it might suit him. _Handsome,_ Lando had called him, with enough sincerity to stick.

He knew Lando had a clever tongue. He reminded himself of the fact as a means to keep the edge off when Lando applied it most thoroughly and creatively to Din’s cock. Lando seemed as lackadaisical about the process as he was with everything preceding, pulling off to mouth at Din’s balls and kiss the fragile skin of his thighs.

‘Look how hard you get, baby, from only a little attention,’ Lando’s voice was gaining a hoarse edge, with the work he was putting in. ‘This is going to feel just _perfect,_ once I get you all slick and ready.’

Din’s hips jerked, and Lando conjured a vial from thin air.

‘Knew from the moment you came in, you’d be good,’ Lando promised, as if Din was doing any of the work. ‘Knew I had to have you, such a precious thing…’

_‘Please—‘_ Din bit back the rest, but it was already there in the taut arc of his spine, the hands cupping Lando’s jaw, the sheen of sweat across his chest. And Lando, all silk and heat and fluttering eyelashes, was every part the obliging host.

Lando poured himself into Din’s lap and dug manicured half-moons into Din’s shoulders. He talked the whole time, a stream of encouragements and endearments, every pet name from a variety of languages and as Din thrust harder inside him, a creative variety of curses as well. It only occurred to Din when Lando gasped as if surprised by his own orgasm, clutching Din’s shoulders and melting around his thighs, that Lando was probably seducing his own reflection in the beskar. He clung to Din, riding through the aftershocks and losing track of his words as Din came inside him, mouth open as if something he couldn’t quite pronounce were caught just behind his teeth.

When he rolled out of Din’s lap, buck naked and resplendent, he produced from a discarded pocket a handkerchief that was probably more expensive than Din’s bounty and dabbed them both clean. While he fixed himself a simpler drink at the bar, Din dressed, stowing away the compliments under his armour.

_Handsome_ had felt a little forced, and _sweetheart_ was saccharine but ill-fitting. _Baby,_ he found, with the shape Lando’s mouth had made as he repeated it into Din’s skin, _baby_ in spite of its wild inaccuracy and casual deployment, _baby_ probably the name Lando used for every lover whose name he’d never bothered to learn, _baby_ that pulled him in as tenderly Lando leaned against him in the aftermath, _baby_ was the one he liked best.


End file.
